


Happily

by Cephy



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Coronation, there was of course a ball, at which many fine spirits were drunk and many conversations were had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happily

**Author's Note:**

> Most, I think I just wanted them all to be happy, so I tried to set up their little love triangle to end without tears.

After Snow’s coronation, there was of course a ball. It was a grand, joyous thing; the nobility acted like rowdies in the castle halls, forgetting their reserve, laughing and dancing and stretching out into the possibilities of the new regime.

William rather thought it was wonderful.

He had somehow ended up in a corner of the grand ballroom, sprawled in a chair with the huntsman an amused and steady presence the next chair over. They were both taking advantage of the very good spirits that had been unearthed from some cellar-- not enough to incapacitate, not enough to forget, but enough to make William’s joints feel warmly loose and his eyelids a little heavier than normal. They two had each chosen those particular seats independently, but very much for the same reason: from there, they could see the whole room, and keep Snow in sight at all times. A matter of habit, from those grown used to keeping her safe, even with entire squadrons of guards there for that very purpose and all of those who would have threatened her gone. 

Or, perhaps, a simple unwillingness to stop watching after her, even now.

A newly-promoted Knight-General passed by, resplendent in a crisp white uniform and looking like he’d been into the spirits a little himself. William saw the huntsman gave the man a double take before smiling faintly and shaking his head.

At William’s questioning look, the huntsman nodded after the general. "I was stationed with him. He was a minor lieutenant in one of the other battalions, at that time. He's certainly moved up in the world."

William's curiousity stirred. “You were a soldier?”

The huntsman nodded. “Western border patrol, for a time, before we were called out to deal with pirates on the coast. That was just before _she_ came.”

“What was it like? Being a soldier.”

The huntsman looked surprised. “I'd think you would know the answer to that well enough by now.”

William shrugged awkwardly and took another drink. “I hid in trees and shot arrows, then when I was done I went home and slept in my own chambers. More like a thief than a soldier. It's hardly the same thing at all.”

“You fight as the battle dictates,” the huntsman said quietly. “When it needs an army, you form one and march it off to the field of battle; when it needs an arrow in the shadows, then that is what you do instead. A good soldier will do whatever needs doing to win the war. As I see it, there is no difference between us.”

William felt his already flushed cheeks grow warmer still, and he covered his pleased smile by ducking his chin. He cleared his throat. “Still, being in an army, then, what was that like? My father's knights would tell stories sometimes, when I was younger. They left out all the worst parts, of course, and embellished everything else, I figured that out quickly enough. Still. I always wondered.”

The huntsman shrugged and looked off into the crowd, eyes searching restlessly until they find Snow White and then resting there. For that moment of silence, William thought that perhaps he wouldn’t answer. Eventually, though, the huntsman swirled the drink in his glass and frowned thoughtfully. “You spend more of your time bored, than anything else; I bet those knights didn't tell you that. Mostly you're marching, digging out camp, or just waiting. Standing guard, sleeping as much as you can. Then when the fighting actually starts, it's more often than not just skirmishes: a candlemark of standing in a line bracing a shield and shoving as hard as you can against the people on the other side doing the exact same thing. The big battles of the stories, the ones that decide who ultimately wins and loses? Those are very, very rare, though of course those are the ones that get sung about. Mostly, you fight, you back off and get your wounds patched, if you’re lucky enough to have a shieldmate you find a dark corner and burn off the adrenaline enough to sleep. Then you get up when the signal sounds and do it all over again.”

William blamed his next question on the drink, loosening his tongue and making his mind too slow to properly censor his thoughts. "So, it really is common for soldiers to sheildmate?”

The huntsman gave him an arched eyebrow, and a crooked grin. "Out of all the rest, that's what you want to ask about?”

William rolled his eyes, once again ignoring the increased heat in his cheeks. “Oh come on. I was just old enough to find the whole thing terribly chivalrous and romantic-- guarding each other’s backs, on the field and off. Bonds closer than blood, and all that." The drink was definitely responsible, his mouth was running off with him and he didn't seem to care. "I was also just barely old enough to start growing a beard, so, yes, I did find the notion fascinating at the time, along with the neckline of the chambermaids' bodices and all of the jokes that the men would stop telling when I came in the room.”

He got a full-throated laugh for that, the huntsman's head tipped back against the chair. “Yes,” he said when the echoes faded, “it happens. It's hardly some kind of noble thing, it's more about simple need and comfort. Remembering how to be men instead of swords. But, yes, it is also about trust.”

There was a pause, and then the huntsman levelled a pointing finger at him. “You would have done well in the army, I think.”

William puffed up a little-- a foolish thing, but he did-- and couldn’t stop another pleased little smile. “Really?”

“You've proven yourself many times over. I would have been proud to have you at my back.” The huntsman’s sudden teasing, lascivious grin was a surprise. “And you can take that in whatever manner you like.”

It took William a second to catch on-- that damnable drink-- but catch on he did, at which point he began blushing furiously. He was still smiling, though, foolishly so; vainly, he tried burying both smile and blush in his cup. “Thank you,” he managed.

Thankfully for William’s peace of mind, Snow chose that moment to drift by them and draw their attention away from the previous conversation. She was walking with several ladies, nodding and talking with them, but her eyes slid their way as she passed and she gave them a cheerfully suspicious look-- they both were still smiling, of course, and William’s cheeks were stained red, so, no wonder. They could probably expect to be asked about their topic of conversation later. Heaven help them.

"You should court her," William heard himself say after the crowd had shifted and drawn her on, after the silence had started to stretch again. He hadn’t really intended to say the words aloud, but after some thought he nodded to himself and continued. “When she opens herself up for suitors,” he elaborated. “I'd be surprised if she hasn't already been getting some pressure to do so. Succession and all. After _her_ , there will be a lot of people looking to have the throne secure.”

William glanced over at the huntsman, who was staring back with a look of stunned bewilderment written large upon his face. The sight was amusing enough that William laughed out loud.

“Are you mad?”

His laughter died away with one final snort. “Hardly.”

“Well then-- why? I would hardly have expected-- I would never have thought that you--“

William’s smile pinched in at the corners, feeling a little tight, but it didn’t fade away entirely. His eyes searched out Snow in the crowd, yet again, and he studied the corner of her jaw, the curve of her hand. “Oh, I intend to put my suit forward. Of course I will-- I've loved her since the day I met her. I like to think that she feels somewhat the same.” He looked sidelong look at the huntsman, and his smile relaxed again. “But it's obvious there's something between the two of you, as well.”

“I am half again her age,” the huntsman muttered, eyes in his cup. He took a long drink. “And common-born to boot.”

William laughed ruefully. “Trust me, my friend, that is not going to stop her if she gets into her head that you're for her. When we were young, and she got set on something--“

The huntsman’s mouth quirked. “Stubborn?”

“The word is hardly sufficient.”

“Somehow, I am not surprised.”

They both drank. It truly was an excellent spirit.

“I want her to be happy,” William eventually said, softly. “More than anything else, more than I want her for myself-- I want her to be happy. If she would be happy with you, then I can hardly begrudge it.” And he wouldn't. It would hurt like one of his own arrows through his heart, but-- for her sake, he would smile and embrace them both and learn to find his own joy in hers.

The huntsman was a good man, at heart; also a skilled fighter and a fiercely loyal protector. The two of them had fallen in around Snow during the long days of travel, and though it could so easily have turned ugly between them, it had instead become easy to trust him to take her other side, to watch when William himself could not. They two were hers, that was just the way of it; their place was at her shoulders in battle, between her and a knife.

If he had to see Snow with someone other than himself, he could bear it if it were the huntsman.

The huntsman blinked at him, and it could be imagination or it could be the drink but it seemed his cheeks gained some of the colour that had earlier plagued William’s. He huffed a breath and pointed sharply at William. "Tomorrow morning, when you have crawled out of your cup, you will regret saying that."

William shrugged, slouching down in his seat. "Regret it or not, it will remain true." 

The huntsman shook his head slowly. “You _are_ mad,” he said, though his tone was at odd with the words-- fondly exasperated, amused. “Perhaps I am mad also, for even considering it.”

William smiled, and lifted his cup once again. “Hail to the Queen.”

The huntsman's cup tapped the side of his, sharply. “Hail to the Queen,” he agreed.

There was another silence, companionable, as the conversation lulled. And then William frowned as he finally gave voice a long-held question. “You are going to tell us your name at some point, I hope?”

The huntsman laughed, though the expression quickly faded into something wistful. “I will, yes. Just-- not quite yet. I haven't used my name since my wife died," he added unexpectedly. “It belonged to a different person, really. Someone-- better. I haven't felt like that man in a long time. Though I'm closer, these days."

William waited until the huntsman looked his way, and then he smiled. "I'm glad. I look forward to meeting you properly, someday."

Across the room, Snow White laughed, and both their heads turned to find her. William and the huntsman watched, while the room rotated itself around their Queen, and William knew, somehow, that whatever might come-- everything would be all right, after all.


End file.
